Chapter 2
Sybill brushes my long, unruly dark brown hair as I look in the mirror. I study the reflection that looks back, taking deep breaths and trying to temper the excitement. Sometimes, I don’t recognize my face at all. If I stare into my own golden eyes for a really long time, my face will start to seem distorted, unfamiliar. Like the way you repeat a word over and over and over again until it begins to sound foreign. Knife.
Knife.
Knife.
Knife.
I have one in my bodice as we speak. I snatched it from the armory after my attack yesterday. Just in case.
Shifting my eyes down, I study the red mark in the mirror. He cut me deeper than I thought. I kind of hope it leaves a scar.
I already have a strange fascination with the mark for some reason. Maybe because my life in this castle has been a bore, and that attack made me feel alive. Though the one wielding the knife was vile.
What is wrong with me?
If he corners me again, I’ll be ready. I hope.
He wouldn’t dare try that tonight, though. Not at the official ball that’s meant to welcome the highest-ranking family of Torrynth and several other high-ranking officials, in a show of peace by all of elf-kind. Technically, the family’s ancestors used to be the kings and queens of the dragon lands, but now the elf king rules over the entire continent. He is the one and only king. He rules unchallenged, and a little arrogant. No one is strong enough to question it anymore.
They’re just trying to survive.
It’s been over a thousand years since the war with the dragons, where my ancestors came out victorious, and they’ve rarely been seen in our lands since. Though the elves technically rule over them, they tend to keep to themselves. That could be because their loss severely hindered them, and they rarely leave Torrynth anymore.
When the war was lost, the king of the elves at the time, with the help of a very powerful witch, cast a spell on all of the land, leaving a dark, swirling haze of gray magic hanging over us all. The world has been gloomy and dark ever since, apparently, though I wouldn’t know any different.
This is the world I know.
The unfortunate part for the dragons is that they cannot fly or even shift because of the haze. It’s frightening to think the cursed veil hanging over us projects more effects down onto us than we know, even if you’re not touching it. The elf king Oshenor manipulated the witch into casting the curse, so who truly knows how nefarious its limits are. Magic is a mysterious thing, and many mysteries of the veil still remain. Our scholars gave up on researching it a long time ago.
It makes sense that the dragons were hit the hardest, as they were the biggest threat to the king’s reign at the time. Now, they are simply dragon shifters who cannot fly. Forever imprisoned on the ground.
Seems rather tragic.
Today, the king is finally trying to make peace. Or that’s what everyone thinks, anyway. Most elves don’t seem so happy about it. Though admittedly, I haven’t talked to that many people about it extensively. I tend to keep to myself.
I’m sure King Nerion Celenor feels safe in his castle, knowing the dragons cannot shift and use their powers. They’d have a great deal of trouble fleeing if they ever attempted anything.
“Are you going to dance with Sir Greenwood tonight?” Sybill asks, pulling me from the deep place in my mind that I often like to escape to.
“I suppose. If he asks.”
“You don’t seem so thrilled.”
“You know… some verdant wielders smell like flowers, or a mix of lovely herbs. He smells like… trees.”
She chuckles. “Is that a bad thing?”
“No. I was actually rather fond of his smell when I was young and had a big crush.”
“Well, not everyone can smell as lovely as you.”
“What do I smell like?” I ask curiously
“It’s very subtle. And fresh. Like a cool, breezy afternoon by the shore. Which makes sense with your water element.”
“Hmm.” All magic shows traces. And those traces can have many forms. Sometimes it can present itself as a red glow emanating off a fire wielder, usually when they’re building up a large amount of magic to use. And all of us have trace amounts of our elements flowing through our veins at all times, so we all have specific, usually subtle, scents that the power gives off. The more powerful the elf does not equal a more powerful scent, though.
